


Joyeux Noël

by Tokkida



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, Dean steals a Christmas tree, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokkida/pseuds/Tokkida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Christmas in Wellsboro was, well, just not the same."  Set in the same universe as The Gift of Stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joyeux Noël

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory holiday fic! This is set in the same universe as TGoS, so if you've never read it, you might be a bit confused. Thank you to everyone who has read my stories; I truly appreciate all of your support, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season filled with joy and love.

“And that should do ‘er,” Seth grinned as he flipped the pub’s glowing “open” sign off for the evening.  “Remind me to give Roddy a huge hug in thanks for letting me shut the bar down for the holiday, okay?”

Roman glanced up from behind the counter with a nod, grabbing another freshly washed glass from the sink and handing it off to the other man as he rounded the bar.

“And thank _you_ ,” the two-toned continued, bumping shoulders with the Samoan as he set to work on drying the proffered tumbler.  “I’d probably be stuck here until four if you hadn’t offered to help out.”

“Not like I had anything better to do,” Ro replied with a shrug, elbows deep in suds and scrubbing diligently at a stubborn sticky spot.  “’Sides, ‘tis the season, right?”

Seth chuckled and set his glass on the shelf before turning around to lean back against the counter with an empathetic sigh.  “Man, another Christmas in Wellsboro.  Figured we’d be outta here by now.”

“We?” the older man questioned, eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

“Well, yeah!  Figured you’d be back in Florida, and I’d be, well, not here.”

Roman sighed wistfully, letting his mind drift off to past holidays in Pensacola.  Although it was usually a temperate seventy degrees or so outside, the interior of his mother’s house during the Christmas season was always a winter wonderland.  Each extravagant decoration was down to the detail, from the sprigs of holly dotting the garland wrapped banisters to the overly festive wreath on the front door.  Ivory icicle lights hung from the roof, twinkling a dazzling display for passersby, and the ornament-laden tree sat front and center in the living room, its rainbow of bulbs casting a technicolor glow across the lower-level.  The temptingly tantalizing aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen on an almost-daily basis, and the velvety bass-baritone of Bing Crosby accentuated by his mother’s own rich alto harmonization flowed through the entire house in celebration.  It was a picture perfect setting straight out of a Hallmark movie, and the grainy memories tugged at the man’s heartstrings in a somewhat-agonizing manner.

Christmas in Wellsboro was, well, just not the same.

Sure, the town and its citizens made _somewhat_ of an effort to get into the holiday spirit.  Flickering, half-lit snowflakes sat on every utility pole, their once-vibrant bulbs now a yellowed stain against the crumbling backdrop, a few of the shop owners hung wreaths on their doors, and at Mrs. Chen’s restaurant, a small tree sat twinkling red and green in the window.  A strand of lights dotted the roof at the Quick Stop, and window clings depicting characters such as Frosty and Saint Nick himself littered each glassy surface in a childlike fashion.  So, no one could really say that they didn’t _try_. 

In Roman’s mind, though, Christmas in the mountains should’ve been more… Norman Rockwell-ish.  Fresh, powdery snow clinging to every branch and bough, cardinals chirping their winter melodies, shoppers scurrying down the sidewalks with their parcels waiting to be opened on Christmas day.  As cookie-cutter as gas station postcards, as perfectly pristine as the black and white films he’d watched with his grandmother in his youth, as warm and inviting as the carols claimed it to be.

“So, you doing anything special for Christmas, Ro?”

“Wha-?” the man questioned, shaking off the fog of memories past as he looked over toward Seth with a slight frown.  “Oh, nah.  Probably just gonna sit at home, watch some awful made-for-TV movies, and enjoy the day off.  Not like I got any family here anyway.”

Seth pursed his lips and tapped the toe of his sneaker against the floor in contemplation.  “You know,” he started after a moment, “you could always come hang out with Roddy and me.  We ain’t got any family here either, and since it’s his last Christmas in town…”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to intru-“

“No!” the smaller man exclaimed, pushing himself off the counter with a hop.  “You wouldn’t intrude at all.  ‘Sides, Roddy always enjoys company, and it gets kinda boring at his place, to be honest.  To think they call him _Rowdy_ …”

Ro rolled his eyes at the other man and finished washing the final tumbler before handing it over to be dried.  “Nah, man.  Like I said, I’m just gonna go home and enjoy my day off.  My knee’s been bothering me pretty bad lately, and I think it’s best if I just rest while I can.”

The two-toned sighed dejectedly and added the glass to the others on the shelf, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.  “A’ight, but the offer still stands, okay?”

The raven nodded his thanks and unplugged the sink before drying his hands off on the towel draped over his pal’s shoulder.  “Well, I think that just about does it,” he nodded, surveying the pub.  “I’ll send you the bill at the end of the month.”

“Put it under Roddy’s name, then,” Seth smirked, “considering he just cashed out that small fortune at the casino, I think he could afford your rate.”

Roman rounded the counter and snatched his leather jacket off of one of the barstools, shouldering it as he padded toward the exit.

Seth’s smile drooped a bit as he watched the older man, shoulders slumped and a slight wobble in his gait.  His heart cracked as he calculated his pal’s sudden shift in mood.  He remembered from previous conversations that Christmas was held near and dear to Roman’s heart, and he understood perfectly why the raven would be so… _melancholic_.  The holiday season was a time meant to be spent with family, and Roman’s current, well, _situation_ curbed that notion for the time being.  As the door to the Pit creaked open, the bartender shook off his daze and ran to catch up, clapping a hand on the other man’s shoulder as he fell into step beside him.

“So,” Roman started as Seth double-checked the lock on the door with a nod, “why aren’t you going back to Iowa for the holiday?  Y’know, to see your family and everything.”

“Eh,” the younger of the duo shrugged, “I didn’t really give it much thought, especially with my new responsibilities and all, I guess.”

The Samoan hmm’d in response, pulling the lapels of his jacket higher to withstand the mountain chill.

“Plus, it’d be kinda shitty of me to just leave Roddy here by himself considering everything he’s done for me,” the two-toned continued, kicking at a melting pile of slush on the sidewalk.  “So, in a way, I _am_ spending Christmas with my family.”

Ro’s breath hitched in his throat, and he nodded slowly, a nauseating pang of grief filling his chest.  “Yeah, I guess you are,” he muttered softly.  His mind suddenly drifted to Dean, wondering what the eccentric man was planning for the holiday.  Would he stay at home, sleeping the day away in a peaceful dreamland?  Or would he drive into Summersville and sit at one of the many bars the larger city boasted, drinking himself into oblivion in an attempt to obliterate any notion of the holiday season?  The man shrugged off the thought as Seth started speaking again.

“So, are you sure you don’t wanna come over, man?  I promise Roddy won’t mind,” the bartender pressed on, “We can get ya smashed on egg nog and play Scrabble or something!”

Roman rolled his eyes with a chuckle and playfully punched the other man in the arm.  “Nah, man.  Thanks anyway.”

“Well, the offer still stands,” Seth smiled, turning to head up the stairs to his apartment above the bar.  “Merry Christmas, Ro-Ro.”

“Merry Christmas, pup,” the older man sighed, and with a parting wave, started off down the dimly lit street toward his own humble abode. 

* * *

 

The shrill chime of the doorbell startled Roman out of his peaceful slumber, and he groaned aloud, glancing over at the clock on the bedside table.  _9:57 AM_.  The man rolled his silvery orbs and flopped back, pulling the comforter up and over his head in an attempt to shield out any disturbances.  The doorbell chimed again, followed by three more in quick succession, then five more as whoever was trying to get his attention annoyingly jammed their finger on the button.

“Motherfucker,” the raven growled, throwing the blanket off and trudging out of his bedroom.  The television he hadn’t bothered to turn off the night before was playing a cheesy Christmas movie depicting a fictional family gathered around their extravagant tree, belting off-key carols while their grandfather strummed his filigree embellished guitar.  His face twisted sour at the saccharine display, and he flipped the family the bird as the doorbell chimed yet again.  “Yes, can I help _you?_ ” he asked, exasperated, as he flung the door open with a huff.

On the other side of the frame, Dean stood smirking, a half-smoked cigarette in one hand and a sixer of Yuengling in the other.  “Well, Merry fucking Christmas to you too, big guy,” the auburn snarked, pushing past the Samoan to flop down on the couch.  “Carry that tree in, will ya?”

Roman quirked a brow in puzzlement and averted his amused gaze from the scruffy intruder and back to the open doorway.  A small, synthetic evergreen sat on the doorstep, its branches thoroughly cluttered with links of red and green construction paper, garishly colored bulbs of all shapes and sizes, and a few strands of lights.  He glanced past the tree, noticing a few cracked ornaments strewn across the path, and chuckled to himself.  _Wasn’t this tree over at the middle school?_   He shook his head in disbelief and hoisted the tree up to take it inside, shutting the door behind him on his way into the living room.

“So,” he started, depositing the prickly tree in the corner as its plastic needles scattered to the hardwood in a flurry, “did you get drunk and steal this from the schoolyard or something?”

Dean rolled his baby blues and took a drag off of his cancer stick, blowing the bluish smoke out through flared nostrils.  “No, I was _sober_ and stole it from the schoolyard.”

“Dean!” the Samoan clucked, hands on his hips.  “I hope no one saw you, dumbass.”

“Oh, to hell with ‘em.  Not like they’d miss it anyway,” the auburn defended himself, stubbing the butt of his cigarette out and popping the top off of a lager to take a hardy gulp.  “’Sides, I coulda done a lot worse.  You want that baby Jesus from the nativity scene outside the church?  I can get you baby Jesus by three o’clock.”

“I don’t want baby Jesus!” Roman exclaimed, carding a hand through his sleep-tangled locks.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Dean warned, rising from the sofa to stand next to his pal.  “Just trying to spread some holiday cheer, you ungrateful bastard.  Now plug that fucker in.”

The larger man shook his head and lit the tree, standing back to admire the glowing symbol of the holiday season with a wistful look.  Something wasn’t quite right, and it wasn’t the fact that he now harbored a stolen decoration.  He scanned over the boughs, taking in the tacky ornaments with a perplexed frown until he reached the top, a light bulb going off in his head as he noticed the tree’s glaringly obvious missing piece; the star.

Upon noticing his friend’s confused expression, Dean reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, emerging with a handkerchief-wrapped bundle.  He nudged the other man’s shoulder and handed the item over once he’d gotten his attention.  With an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he watched Roman’s breathtaking orbs sparkle in delight as the desired object was gently unwrapped.  “Couldn’t forget the star, Romeo,” he winked, taking another sip of his beer.

“Yeah,” Ro breathed, a flood of nostalgia washing over him in a wave of warmth.  He closed his eyes and sighed happily, imagining that he was a child back in Florida, his father holding him up to place their own shining star upon the highest bough.  The sights and sensations came back to him in a rush.  The scent of cinnamon pinecones floating through the air, the poinsettias on every table, the warmth and laughter as his own family gathered around the tree to open their gifts on Christmas morning.  He opened his orbs and gazed over at his friend, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.  “Thank you.”

Dean nodded toward the tree, signaling the other man to complete the perfect picture.  An affectionate tug at his heartstrings, he watched Roman gingerly place the star in its rightful place.  “Beautiful,” he whispered, his blazing sapphires never leaving the Samoan.

“Yeah, it is,” the other agreed, a bright grin gracing his features.  He turned to face his pal, a spark of yearning coursing throughout his bloodstream.  Their eyes locked in mutual adoration, the ocean’s tumultuous depths to steely silver, and Ro silently gasped as, in a rare occurrence, Dean surged forward to wrap his arms around him.  He smiled and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to the man’s unruly curls, breathing deep the cloying scent of tobacco, mountain air, and something so _uniquely Dean_ and unable to be replicated.

“Merry Christmas, Ro,” Dean breathed, his voice sending a comforting rumble through Roman’s chest.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

* * *

 

The muted melody of a timeless classic filtered in through the open doorway, followed closely by gentle footsteps.  A pair of young, identical men glanced up from their perch beside the hospital bed, matching, wistful expressions gracing their handsome features.

“How’s he doing?” one of the men, Jey, questioned.

“As well as he can be,” Colby replied with a shake of his head.  “No idea how long it’ll be before he wakes up, but I’m sure Joe appreciates you guys being here.”

The other man, Jimmy, nodded slowly, a frown tugging at his lips.  “Nowhere I’d rather be on Christmas,” he muttered, reaching out to clasp his cousin’s hand in his own.  “Wonder what he’s dreaming about?”

“Hope it’s something good,” Jey replied with a grin, brushing a wavy tress of ebony off of the patient’s forehead.

“Bet he’s dreaming about the beach.”

“Or the babes at the beach!  Y’know what I mean, uce?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Joe.  Chasin’ skirts ‘til dawn.”

Colby smiled to himself as he listened to the men’s cheerful banter, knowing that Joe was currently in good hands.  He backed out of the room and headed toward the nurses’ station, their boisterous laughter echoing down the hallway behind him. 

The petite nurse sitting behind the desk peered up as he approached, pink lips quirked in a knowing smirk and a sparkle of mischief in her own chocolate orbs.  “Those boys giving him any trouble?” she questioned, setting her pen down on a pile of discarded paperwork.

“Nah,” Colby replied, reaching over to ruffle the woman’s close-cropped locks as she playfully batted his hand away.  “I think he’s gonna be alright.” 

It wasn’t the picture-perfect, “Kodak moment” holiday of everyone’s dreams, but with the way he’d been blessed that year, from a multitude of progress in the mindscape to the fated reconnection with a seemingly long-lost friend, things were beginning to take a turn for the better.  The man glanced over toward the nurse with a cherishing smile as she rounded the desk, her cardigan draped over one arm and the other extended in anticipation of an escort.  He hooked his own arm around hers, and they set off down the hallway, their sneakers squeaking against the waxed tile.

“Merry Christmas, Colby,” she said.

“Merry Christmas, Mia.”  


End file.
